


We're Painting Dean on the Walls

by metaphoricheart



Series: Robin'verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Curtain Fic, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hunter Retirement, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Nearly Human Castiel, Other, Platonic Life Partners, Post-Hell Dean, Post-Hell Sam, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Queer Platonic Life Partners, Queerplatonic Relationships, Sick Sam Winchester, robin'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 18:05:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4189725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metaphoricheart/pseuds/metaphoricheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second story in my robin'verse. Sam decides he wants to actually paint the living room robin egg blue. Sam, Cas, and Dean struggle to take care of each other, and worry about their new life. But at night, when they are all asleep in the same bed, everything is alright--even when Sam has a migraine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Painting Dean on the Walls

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second story in robin'verse. You might want to read the first one if you want this one to make as much sense as possible, but it's upto you. Thank you for reading. I seem to be going in chronological order with my ideas of the verse. I may deviate though soon, but you will know where it is on the timeline. Also, please forgive any proofreading mistakes you find. I'll go back to them later, I just really wanted to get this posted!

Sam set the bowl of broccoli down on the table, and then seated himself in his chair in The Heinous Kitchen. 

Everyone was quiet as they served themselves. The neighbors’ car door slammed as Betty and Sean came home, from wherever they went. The refrigerator hummed and the ice machine rattled. Dean could never get over this. They had a fucking refrigerator. With magnets on it. Like, the magnets that come with the newspaper when companies are advertising shit. There was a postnote from last week in Sam’s neat handwriting about the lack of milk in the fridge that no one had taken down yet. Dean’s “One Month Sober” Certificate was tacked to the fridge with a Fred’s Steak and Pizza magnet in the center of the fridge. Cas had called it the fridge’s pride and joy. Sam had told Cas that didn’t make any sense. Dean had blushed and quickly escaped to the bathroom.

Sam took his opportunity to speak before Dean went on some rant about a customer at the autoshop and didn’t stop until he realized that Cas was glaring at him.

“Uh, so, I wanna do it this weekend.” That didn’t come out quite as Sam had planned, but the fog in his brain was starting to swirl, and he was pretty sure he just saw an aura float in the corner of his eye.

Cas tilted his head. “Do what, Sam?”

“Paint the living room.”

Cas kept his head tilted and furrowed his eyebrows. Dean set down the diet Coke can. Sam wanted to say something to Dean about his latest crutch, but it wasn’t alcohol, and on the list of horrible crutches, diet Coke was pretty far down the list. 

“Sammy, wants to paint the living room with my innards.”

Cas’s eyes widened. “He what?” 

Sam shot him a bitch face. “Dean, that’s not what I said.”

Dean turned to Cas. “Sam wants to paint the living room robin egg blue”, Dean explained. He took on a mocking, sarcastic tone, “Because Sam thinks ‘If Dean were a colour that’s what he would be’”. Dean finished with a laugh.

“Hm. That’s a nice colour. I think that would be very nice for our living room,” Cas responded and then promptly stuffed his mouth with spaghetti. 

Dean sighed and covered the hand that was holding Cas’s fork. “Cas, it’s easier if you twirl it onto your fork.” 

Dean moved Cas’s hand in the motion to twirl his spaghetti, and then let go. Cas tried it himself, and then put the twirled spaghetti in his mouth. He swallowed, and leaned back in his chair as if regarding a science experiment. “Yes, that is a lot easier. Thank you, Dean”.

Both Dean and Cas oblivious to the hurt look on Sam’s face. Dean’s mocking had punched him in the gut, and left him hunched over. 

Cas turned to Sam to ask about the living room, and noticed Sam’s posture. “Sam, are you okay?”

Dean’s eyes immediately snapped to Sam and scrutinized him. “Does your stomach hurt?”

Sam ignored both of them. After several ignored questions, and “Sam”s, Dean came around the table. He placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder and asked, “Sammy, you with me here?” 

As soon as Dean had touched him anger swelled up in Sam, and he shifted his shoulder violently and knocked Dean’s hand off. “Don’t touch me, Dean!”

Dean held ups his hands and backed up, “Whoa, whoa, okay”. 

Cas looked from Dean to Sam. “Sam?” He tried softly. 

Sam stared at this plate and bit out, “You know what? If you want to paint the living room a different colour be my guest. Paint it army green or whatever the fuck it is you would prefer.”

The auras were in his direct line of vision now, and a slow pounding started to roll in waves from the back of his neck.  
Dean looked bewildered. Dean glanced at Cas to see if Cas had any understanding of what was going on, but Cas was intently watching Sam.

“Sam...I never said there was anything wrong with the colour,” Dean said slowly.

Sam was shaking his head, and tears started spilling down his cheeks. “I thought we were past this, Dean.”

Dean hoisted himself up to sit on the counter by the sink. “Sam, I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“You’re making fun of me!” Sam practically wailed. “I know that I’m all kinds of fucked up, and stupidly sentimental but I meant what I said Dean! The colour is important to me because it reminds me of you. I know that I don’t contribute anything to this family right now. I know that I’m barely vertical or coherent and I’m just a giant burden, but Jesus. Can’t you just keep your mocking of me behind my back and not my face?” 

Sam finished with chest heaving, and his hands clutching his temples. “Fuck,” he exhaled.

Cas was already up before Dean could even react to the entire situation, pulling out meds and getting a glass of water. Cas pulled his chair so it was next to Sam, and started rubbing his back, while speaking quietly into his ear.

“Sam, you’re allowed to be upset. But you need to take a few breaths, and calm down.” 

Sam nodded and slowly breathed out. He reached for the medication, and downed it with the water. Cas continued to rub his back for a few minutes, while the only sound in the kitchen was Sam breathing slowly in and out.

Sam’s word slammed and tumbled around in Dean’s brain. Fuck. He had only meant to tease, but they were all relearning these days when it was okay to tease, with what subjects, and how far to go. Also this was Sam after hell. Hell. The kid is going to be a bit thin skinned at the very least. He should have realized that teasing Sam about Dean being Robin Egg Blue would hurt him.

“Better?” Cas asked softly. Sam nodded, and looked up at Dean, looking like a kicked puppy.

“Sammy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that teasing to sting, but it did. I’m sorry. And as for that bullshit about being a burden and not contributing anything...that’s just...bullshit, Sam. Without you the house would be a dump and being sick is not your fault. I don’t wanna hear about this again, got it?” 

“Dean,” Cas looks at Dean a little alarmed at the authoritarian tone.

“Yeah, I got it...it’s okay, Dean. I’m...sorry for freaking out, just don’t feel good,” Sam finished in a mumble.

“We know, Sam. It’s okay,” Dean responded soothingly. Cas fervently nodded his head from his place next to Sam.

Dean hopped off the countertop. Picked up his plate and popped it in the microwave. He waved his hands at Cas, and Cas left Sam’s side long enough to hand Dean his plate to warm up. 

“Scale of 1 to 10, how bad is your head, Sam?” Dean asked.

Cas had gone back to rubbing circles on Sam’s back trying to keep him grounded in the moment before the migraine and the anxious spacing out takes hold.

“Five.”

Dean let out a breath. He can work with that.

“You think you can still eat?”

“Yes.”

Cas got up again, and handed Dean Sam’s plate to warm up.

\---

“Sam wants to paint the living room this weekend because his appointment with the specialist is on Monday,” Cas said to Dean while carding his hand through Sam’s hair.

Sam was asleep on the couch with his head in Cas’s lap. One of Sam’s socks was slipping off. Cas wanted to fix it but that would require moving, which would wake Sam. Dean hadn’t understood what the issue was. (“So just let his sock fall off, Cas. It can be put back on later.”) 

Dean looked up from the rickety old table they had turned into a desk in the corner of the room. He put down the bill he had been looking over, and gave Cas a “Ok...and…?” look.

“He wants to paint it before his appointment so no matter how well or poorly it goes, he will have a place to go back to that reminds him of you. You’ve always been his anchor,” Cas stated as if this were plainly obvious. 

Dean said nothing, and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The floorboards beneath it creaked, and Sam shifted in his sleep.

Both Dean and Cas froze, but Sam did not wake up. “I think I would rather like to have a room that reminds me of you, as well,” Cas whispered loudly across the room.  
Dean stayed still this time in his chair, although he desperately wanted to squirm. Because really, fuck the two of them. Fuck them with their stupid sentimental shit that made his stomach feel warm. Fuck them for loving him when he was just a drunk who can barely keep his family together. 

Dean cleared his throat. “I, uh, I’ll look for the paint tomorrow.” 

Cas nodded, and asked tentatively. “Do you think he’ll be okay enough...to paint this weekend?”  
Cas placed his hand on top of Sam’s head.

Dean didn’t want to squirm in his seat anymore, he wanted to run around the house screaming.  
Because what really was “okay enough” anymore? Why did they have to call days where Sam was slightly spacey or slightly anxious or slightly sad, “enough”? Not that Dean wouldn’t take those days over the days Sam sits in a corner and cries, or his body hurts so much he can’t get out of bed and grips Dean’s pinky finger. He’ll take those days over Sam not remembering his own name and over flashbacks from Hell and all the other shit they’d been through.

But why is their best bet suddenly just “okay enough”? And when did they enter a world where they worried about painting living room walls?

Cas broke Dean’s chain of thought. “I’m going to take him to bed, and go to bed too.” 

Dean nodded. “I’ll be there in like a half hour or so...I just…”

“...need some time, it’s okay Dean,” Cas finished.

Cas had some angelic qualities left in him, and the fact that his strength remained had become useful. Cas stood up with Sam in his arms, cradled Sam to his chest, and walked up the stairs.

Five hours later, with Cas on one side and Dean on the other side of Sam in bed, Sam woke up. Which meant Dean also woke up.

“Hey,” Dean whispered. “How’s your migraine?”

Sam blinked blearily at him and responded with a “Nghahf”. He reached out and tugged on Dean’s shirt.

“Wow, that was real helpful Sammy.”

Sam tugged Dean’s shirt again. 

Dean sighed, but his mouth was quirked in a smile, “Fine, okay.” 

He pulled Sam to him so Sam was against his chest and under one of Dean’s arms. He was asleep three seconds later.

\---

That Sunday, they paint the living room walls robin egg blue. Sam approached the wall first, and wrote “Dean” with the roller, before going back over the careful letters with a fresh batch of paint.


End file.
